


It's The Thought That Counts

by victorine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, The Tum, gratuitous use of innuendo, implied abuse of culinary utensils, it's Will's birthday!, murder dorks, pouty cannibal noises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal just wanted to do something nice for Will but a usually-reliable technique lets him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's The Thought That Counts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chronicopheliac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/gifts).



> A tiny wee bit of birthday-flavoured nonsense for the lovely Chronicopheliac. Happy Birthday!

Hannibal looked down, aghast, at the limp, pathetic thing in his hands. As if to add insult to injury, a small stream of fluid oozed from the tip, a grotty parody of what should have been a beautiful release.

“I am so sorry, Will,” he sighed, “this has never happened to me before.”

“It’s ok, baby,” Will said, soothingly, petting the older man’s back. “These things happen to everyone. I mean, never to me…”

Hannibal tipped his head, momentarily distracted. “I wasn’t aware you had ever tried this for yourself. It’s quite an advanced technique.”

“Yeah, looks that way,” Will agreed. “I didn’t even know there _were_ different kinds of cream.”

Hannibal rolled his eyes. How he had come to be eternally cleaved to a man with so little knowledge beyond the basic and vanilla was a source of endless curiosity. And frustration. “Not _cream_ , William. _Buttercream_. Swiss meringue buttercream, to be precise.” He glared at the offending piping bag, still leaking curdled frosting, with the murderousness such behaviour deserved.

“Uh-huh,” Will nodded, still using what Hannibal had come to think of as his _soothe the savage beast_ tone. “Which shouldn’t look like that?”

“Will, it is your birthday and I have ruined your birthday cake and I also love you very much and therefore I will ignore that remarkably obtuse question.”

“Oh, come on, baby, you haven’t ruined anything,” Will cooed, wrapping his arms around Hannibal, who tried not to stiffen in irritation.

“There is no time to make a fresh batch of frosting, nor do I have enough of the correct ingredients, so yes, my love, unless you are happy to eat plain sponge…”

Hannibal felt Will shrug against him. “I’d probably be happy to eat anything you cooked. Pretty certain there’s some part of that scumbag club owner from last Thursday in this cake and I’ve no objections to _that_.” Hannibal was certain Will could feel the triumphant smirk on his face. Which fell instantly at his next statement. “Anyway, we can improvise – pretty certain there’s a nice, big jar of Nutella in one of these cupboards.” He peeled himself off Hannibal’s back in order to search, and therefore missed the seethingly incredulous look the man turned on him.

“You wish,” Hannibal nearly choked on the words, “to cover my perfectly-baked chiffon cake in mass-produced chocolate spread?” He began a mantra of _You love him and it is his birthday and you love him_ , in order to block out the howl of disapproval echoing through his head.

“Yes, and then we are going to go upstairs, to our bed, and I am going to eat this unholy comestible off your naked stomach. Which,” he added quickly, off Hannibal’s protesting glance, “you will allow, even though you think your tum is unattractive, because it is my birthday, and I love it, along with every part of you.”

Hannibal sighed. He was trapped, completely caught, and the worst of it was he found he did not at all mind.

“As it is your birthday, I suppose I cannot deny even your least refined wishes. Please find the jar of Nutella whilst I locate my offset spatula.”

“Your offset… Hannibal, if you’ve bought another obscure sex toy to test on me…”

Hannibal regarded the tool with newfound interest. He suspected the icing was only the first thing he would be spreading with it tonight.


End file.
